


Five Times Draco almost got some and the One Time he actually did

by theboywiththeskulltattoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5 plus 1, Bottom!Harry, DracoTopsHarry Fest, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Virgin Harry, top!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-11-14 01:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18042785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboywiththeskulltattoo/pseuds/theboywiththeskulltattoo
Summary: Patience is a virtue, and Draco is a virtuous man. Or he wants to be. Has to be, now that he's dating Harry Potter, who's basically virtue on legs - and requires more patience from Draco than he'd ever thought.





	Five Times Draco almost got some and the One Time he actually did

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Here it is, my first contribution to a Drarry fest! 
> 
> A big thank you goes to my amazing, wonderful Alpha Reader @Quicksilvermaid, and the equally amazing @RedHorse who beta'd the hell out of this fic. 
> 
> All remaining mistakes are my own or deliberate (like Draco getting Muggle words wrong)
> 
> prompt 141:  
> Harry and Draco are dating; Harry is a virgin and Draco isn’t. Harry is incredibly eager to have sex but at the same time terrified of it. He’ll get very horny and start making out hardcore, then get scared and freak out. Draco has no idea what to do or what Harry really wants. 
> 
> I hope you liked what I made of it!
> 
> A big thank you also goes to the mods of this wonderful fest! ❤️

**One**

“So. This is it, my whole experience. Now you can start laughing.”

Draco raises an eyebrow at the sight of Harry. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, he’s lifted his chin defiantly and his eyes glare green daggers at Draco through smudged glasses. He’s nervous; his foot is tapping the ground relentlessly.

“Haha,” Draco says dryly. “You cannot be serious, Potter. Why would I laugh at that?”

“Thought you’d have a field day with something like that. Famous Harry Potter, with his big head…" 

“I kind of like your big head,” Draco interrupts, casually twirling his little cocktail umbrella between his fingers. “Or at least I’m getting used to the sight.”

Or the thought of said head on his pillows. Or between his legs. Which probably will have to wait after this recent development. Who’d have thought it… the Saviour, the Chosen One… a virgin. At twenty-three. Still, Draco doesn’t laugh. It would be rude. 

“You wound me,” he says instead, fixing Harry with his best hurt glare. “We aren’t in Hogwarts anymore, we’re adults and, should the fact have escaped your notice, we’re _dating._ ” Draco leans back, watching Harry loosen his rigid posture. “I have to say I am not opposed to… being the first.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Harry mumbles, rolling his eyes. “I just told you so you know - it might take a while - forget it.”

“Relax, Potter. This is, what, our fourth date?”

“Fifth,” Harry contradicts, blushing a little. “You forget that one where we met in the tea kitchen for a cuppa.”

Ah, right. The one where a discussion about the only right way to pour tea - milk _after_ tea, of course - had turned into a heated argument, which had turned into even more heated snogging. Not a date per se, but if Harry wants to count it… why not.

“Fifth date,” Draco continues patiently. “And I am not in any kind of rush. We have all the time in the world, Potter.”

Well, that sounds almost too corny, Draco thinks, wrinkling his nose. He has to watch what he’s saying around Harry. It’s bad enough he’s calling him that in his head, it’s bad enough that he _really_ isn’t in any rush. Harry smiles, torpedoing Draco’s resolve to stay cool and detached.

“Maybe _I am_ in a rush,” Harry says, and Draco jumps as he feels something glide up his leg, staring at Harry in disbelief as he sticks out his lower lip with a concentrated look in his eyes, moving his naughty foot even higher. “Maybe I just waited for the right person.”

Merlin’s beard. If being the right person means getting to take Harry’s virginity right now, Draco’s absolutely fine with it.

***

For a virgin Harry goes at it pretty fierce, crowding Draco against the door as soon as it closes, kissing the living daylights out of him. His hands seem to be everywhere at once, under Draco’s shirt, in his hair, wrapped around his neck, drawing him even closer.

Draco can feel the hard outline of Harry’s cock pressing insistently into his thigh, he’s obviously as ready as he ever will be and Draco can’t wait to have him on his back, naked and moaning and open…

“You’re going to be the death of me, Potter,” Draco mumbles.

He slides his hands into Harry’s jeans, gripping his arse through the thin fabric of his pants, kneading it, letting his fingers spread the round cheeks, pulling him closer, rubbing against him and claiming his mouth in a deep and filthy kiss, his tongue mimicking the motions of a cock, diving in and out, he dips his fingertips into the crease, swallowing Harry’s groan…

Fists shoving against his chest rip Draco out of the haze of lust blurring his vision, Harry’s gone rigid in his arms, making tiny noises of distress, and Draco lets go of him, horrified. He looks at Harry, at his flushed face, glasses sitting lopsidedly on his nose, green eyes wide and fucking terrified, and Draco completely loses his shit.

“Salazar, Harry… I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize… I should’ve gone slower, I should’ve waited, I should’ve noticed you didn’t want that, I–”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Harry groans, pressing his palm over Draco’s mouth. “I want it, I swear I do, you did nothing wrong, it’s just… I just can’t!” He sighs, shoulders sagging. “You’ll probably want to leave now. See someone who doesn’t act like a stuck-up git.”

“Excuse me?” Draco asks, baffled. He’s feeling dizzy and lightheaded, and he’s reasonably sure his cock hasn’t ever wilted so fast in his life, not even that one time when Pansy had allowed him to feel her up _down there_. “Whyever would I do that? I’m seeing you.”

“You still are?”

Draco wants to rattle him until he can make some sense fall out of Harry’s stupid, shaggy head. He sounds puzzled, as if he really believes Draco would just up and leave to get some meaningless lay. He’s been there, thank you, and surprise, it’s not for him. This is better. This could lead somewhere.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” he sighs, hesitates, then gently kisses his forehead. To hell with it. “Why don’t you fix us a cuppa - _tea first -_ while I pick out one of those flims to watch?”

**Two**

“Oh yes, just like that, you’re doing so well…” Draco closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. “Your hands are incredible, Potter." 

Harry hums wordlessly, hands working on Draco’s shoulders, warm and smooth. His touch is sending goosebumps all over Draco, despite the large fire roaring in the fireplace, despite the warmth of the room. He’s taken off his shirt to get the full impact, preening a little under Harry’s appreciative gaze.

Soft lips touch his nape and Draco feels heat pool in his stomach as Harry kisses his way along Draco’s shoulder, as his hands glide over them and down Draco’s chest, grazing his nipples until they stiffen under the wandering fingers. He sighs, tilting his head to give Harry better access, shivering when he latches onto a soft spot and sucks gently.

“Potter, are you sure…”

“More than sure. You’re driving me bonkers, lounging around in my living room without a shirt and with your hair looking so good…”

Draco sits up and turns around to get a better look at Harry. His impossible eyes are glittering confidently, and under Draco’s scrutinizing gaze he smiles and pulls his tattered shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor. Damn.

Draco lets his eyes roam Harry’s torso, taking it in hungrily, the light dusting of dark hair, looking incredibly soft, the flat stomach, beautifully built, not too much, not too little muscle, just perfect. Draco can’t wait to get his hands on him.

He surges forward, crashing into Harry, gripping fistfuls of unruly black hair and drawing him against his mouth. He kisses him hard, biting down on soft lips, tongue licking frantically into Harry’s mouth. He needs this, needs him, wants him so much he feels as if his cock will burst if he doesn’t get it out right now.

He drags Harry down on top of him and Harry comes willingly, pouring himself entirely into the kiss, grinding his hard cock against Draco’s until he sees stars. He fumbles with Harry’s belt, then his own, desperate to feel more of him, skin on skin; to touch and be touched.

Draco drags Harry’s jeans down, lifting his hips to let Harry get him out of his trousers, groaning when their cocks touch, only separated by two thin layers of cotton. He tilts his head and with a snarl sinks his teeth into Harry’s collarbone, relishing his cry and the way he presses down harder. Slowly Draco’s hands glide over Harry’s sides, faintly feeling his ribs under his skin, moving down to cup Harry’s arse…

And bloody Potter jolts as if he’d gotten one of those electocal shocks.

“Potter, what–”

“Nothing, nothing,” Harry mumbles, distracting Draco with another lewd kiss. It’s working pretty well, and Draco forgets about the incident as Harry kneels between his legs and pulls down his pants, unable to hide a low gasp as Draco’s cock springs free.

 _Touch me_ , Draco thinks, almost delirious with want, _fucking take it in your hand and touch me!_ Instead Harry straightens, pushing down his own pants, the movement quick and determined. His cock is pretty, long and thick and wet at the tip, and Draco bites his lip as Harry drapes himself over him, as their cocks move against each other in a delicious glide.

He wants him, wants to feel all of him, feel him everywhere, touch him… His hands wander down again, squeezing those tempting round buttocks… and Harry goes rigid above him, freezing mid-glide. 

“Potter?”

 “I’m alright,” Harry grits out from between clenched teeth. “Keep… keep going. Just do it, okay? Let’s get it over with.”

Get it... Draco shimmies out from under Harry’s body, edging away. Get it over with?? _Get it over with!!!_ He can’t believe it. He thought Harry was into this, that this was what they both wanted. Bloody hell, it had been _Harry_ who’d started this, not Draco, and now he - now he looks as if he’s about to cry. 

And Draco promptly melts into a puddle of sympathy and a startling rush of affection. He reaches out, pulling Harry into his arms, placing a dozen little kisses on his face in an attempt to reassure him. 

“It’s alright, Potter,” he murmurs, “you really don’t have to do that. Stop rushing yourself, I’m entirely comfortable with waiting until you’re ready.”

“I want it,” Harry insists stubbornly, pressing his heated cheek to Draco’s neck. “I really, really want this.”

“Another time, hm?” Draco gently pushes Harry back, smiling his best, seductive smile. “For now, Potter… there are other ways to get off.”

And just like that Harry is grinning again as he slides off the couch and onto the floor. Draco watches him, baffled. What… is he really thinking of… Damn this man, switching between blushing virgin and lusty minx in the blink of an eye. Draco’s cock twitches as Harry grips it firmly.

“Time for another first then,” he says, and lowers his head into Draco’s lap.

 **Three**  

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Potter?”

Draco watches Harry down another double scotch, the fourth if he counted correctly. That’s a lot for someone who normally nurses a single butterbeer all evening. 

“M’okay,” Harry slurs, trying to place the glass on the table and failing miserably. “S’fine.”

“Obviously.” Draco flicks his wand to gather the shards from the floor. Really, this has to stop. People are starting to stare at them, even more than they already are. Still not used to it: the Golden Boy and the former Death Eater. Their problem. Draco finally has what he always wanted. They can stare until their eyes fall out.

But this, their greedy, sensational looks as Harry sways on his barstool - Draco shakes his head, taking Harry’s arm in a firm grasp, and Apparates them back to his flat. To his bedroom to be exact.

He just wants to tuck Harry into bed, he truly does, let him sleep it out and wake him tomorrow with a hangover potion and a blowjob. But when Draco bends down to get Harry’s glasses off, his hand is snatched with surprising precision.

“Want you,” Harry mumbles. “Want you so bad. Can you fuck me now?”

“What when you are illuminated like Blackpool promenade? Guess again, Potter.”

Harry’s eyes slide shut, he fumbles for Draco’s shirt and yanks until Draco gives in and tumbles into bed. Harry wraps around him immediately, like a very cuddly whisky bottle. Fuck it, Draco decides. Harry is relaxed, he wants it really badly, apparently, so fuck it. Fuck him. He’ll just watch for any signs of discomfort, should Harry decide he’s not ready after all.

Harry kisses Draco with all his might, tasting of whisky, sweet and sharp at the same time. His mouth is hot and wet and delicious, and Draco feels like drowning in it. Six weeks now; six weeks of dating and making out and Harry teasing him, and finally he’s so close, so close to reaching the thing he’s fantasized about for so long…

There’s no fear now on Harry’s face, he looks relaxed and content, his lips parting in a silent moan as Draco kisses down his chest, his stomach, takes him into his mouth. Harry gasps quietly, fingers sifting through Draco’s hair, his whole body so soft, so at ease, so calm…

Draco pulls off and crawls up to kiss Harry again. His eyes are still closed, a slight smile on his lips, his chest rising and sinking with deep breaths - he’s sleeping. Draco blinks. Harry has fucking passed out while getting a blowjob. From Draco Malfoy. From his bloody boyfriend. Merlin’s tits, what the–

Draco seethes, his balls hurt and he wants to shake Harry awake and just turn him around and ram it in and… With a snarl, Draco stalks out of his own bloody bedroom, into the bath, to take the coldest shower of his life. Damn Potter and damn all whisky in the world and damn his bloody virginity. If only he’d been fucked by twenty guys already!

Twenty giant pricks smoothing the way, twenty blokes making Harry scream, making him so eager to do it again that he’d practically jump into the saddle the minute he sees Draco naked, he’d ride him fast and experienced and wouldn’t need to be coddled like this.

Harry is supposed to be a Gryffindor! But oh, all of the famous bravery vanishes the moment Draco even _looks_ at his perfect, untouchable arse, as if Draco’s cock were a torture device and not crafted perfectly to cause the utmost pleasure!

Draco towels himself dry angrily. He’ll buy Harry a frickin plug and make him wear it all day until he’s loose and begging for it. Hell, he’ll just take him. Press him down and just fuck right into that virgin arse. He’ll - he’ll stop behaving like an utter wanker. Draco inhales deeply, tiptoeing back to where Harry is still out cold, looking down on him with that damn affection he can’t ever get rid of again. He climbs in beside Harry, laying his head on his chest.

He hates him. Him and his virgin arse, his stupid shaggy hair, his steady heartbeat under Draco’s cheek, his beautiful green eyes, the idiot scar on his idiot head, his fucking smile and his horrible generosity, his kindness and his freaky honour and all of that shit. Harry mumbles Draco’s name in his sleep, and Draco rolls his eyes.

Well, maybe not twenty men. Just one, one Harry trusted, one that showed him how good it can be, one giving him everything he needs and deserves. Someone who loves Harry. Someone he can imagine a future with, someone who keeps him on his toes, someone who calls him out on his bullshit, someone who holds him when he needs it…

 _Fuck you, Potter,_ Draco thinks grumpily.

**Four**

“...thank the Minister for his tireless effort to ensure…”

Draco has a hard time following the words of the old bat currently on stage, what with Harry sitting so close, _very_ close, his leg pressed tightly against Draco’s, his hand…

“Potter,” Draco hisses, “keep your fingers to yourself.”

Harry doesn’t answer, stubbornly staring ahead at the speaker, but his cheeks are flushed and he’s chewing on his lip in a way that should be illegal. His hand firmly stays where it is, splayed out over Draco’s crotch. Only the wide robes and a half-assed Disillusionment charm keep them from properly embarrassing themselves in front of the whole Ministry and St. Mungo’s staff.

“Potter, I swear I will kill you. I will bend you over my knee and give you the thrashing of a lifetime, you insolent… shameless… good gracious….” 

Harry purses his lips, still pretending to listen to an endless stream of speeches with rapt attention. His hand has started moving though, rubbing Draco’s swollen cock in circular motions, driving him insane.

“Potter,” Draco gasps, “stop it or…”

Too late, Harry presses down hard and Draco bites his lip to the point of tasting blood, anything to smother the groan threatening to escape from his mouth as he comes in his pants like a bloody teenager.

“And of course Mr. Harry James Potter, who has kindly agreed to do us the honour of cutting the ribbon to officially open this remarkable new wing!”

Clapping ensues around them and Harry gets up, seeming completely calm as he walks to the front where he quickly severs a thick red ribbon with a careless flick of his wrist. The people cheer, and Draco explodes. With just two steps he’s close enough to Harry to grip his arm, so tight it must hurt, and Apparates them straight to Grimmauld Place.

“I thought you’d never do that,” Harry says, grinning with mirth. “Thought I had to go down and suck your cock in the middle of St. Mungo’s until you finally got me out of there.”

“You…” Draco opens and closes his mouth, unable to grasp a suitable insult, finally settling on a lame, “Fuck you, Potter!”

“That’s the idea,” Harry says, and now he’s not smiling anymore, his green eyes bright and intense.

“Ah.” Draco straightens, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Certainly not, Potter, oh no. I’m not falling for that one again.”

“What?” Harry’s mouth falls open, he looks like a - rather fuckable - moron. “Draco, I mean it, I really want to do this with you. I mean, I knew when I started to be interested in men that it would be me taking… I want it, okay?”

“Yes, you say that now,” Draco sneers. “And the moment I’m near your arse you get panicky again and I get impatient and to be honest, my left hand is begging for a break!" 

The hurt radiating from Harry is almost palpable; he looks as if Draco has hit him. This isn’t fair. None of this is fair, on either of them. Draco sighs.

“Would you be able to swear an Unbreakable Vow right now? That you are ready?” Harry slowly shakes his head, shoulders sagging, and Draco snorts. “Thought so. Potter, stop forcing it. It only ends in frustration for both of us.”

“I want you,” Harry insists. “I don’t know why I can’t do… this. I really want you.”

He looks so sad… Enough is enough, Draco decides and with one quick step he’s with him and has gathered him in his arms, kissing him hard and insistent. 

“New rule, Potter,” he mumbles, licking across Harry’s delicious bottom lip. “You have to stop freaking out everytime I come near your arse. Look me in the eye.” Harry does, and for a moment Draco entirely loses his train of thought in those magnificent green depths. Focus!

“I swear to you, here and now, that I will put nothing in your arse before I have your explicit verbal consent. You can relax, you can let me touch you. I _need_ to be able to touch you, Potter. Do you think you can live with that?”

“I don’t deserve you,” Harry mutters. “Thank you, Draco.”

Stupid git, Draco thinks as he kisses Harry again, sliding both hands down his back to cup his delectable arse. Harry doesn’t flinch this time, and the trust that shows nearly breaks Draco’s heart. If one of them is undeserving... it’s definitely not Harry.

**Five**

“What in Salazar’s name is all this?”

Draco can’t believe his eyes. The normally unused dining room in Grimmauld Place is speckless: polished wood shining in the warm candlelight, the table laid out with a veritable feast of food and drink, fancy wine glasses and, if Draco’s not entirely mistaken, Great-Aunt Walburga’s second-best dining silver. 

But the real feast is Harry, waiting for Draco in smart black trousers and a forest green shirt, wrinkle-free and buttoned up, hugging his figure tightly. This is so different from the usual jeans-and-tee-attire that Draco would have a hard time recognizing him - if it weren’t for Harry’s impossible shock of hair. That one thing about him never changes, thank Circe.

“It’s been six months now,” Harry says, voice low and shy. “I thought we’d celebrate that.” 

Six months… has it really been six months? It seems simultaneously longer and shorter than that. Six months of being with Harry, six months of fights and reconciliations, six months of getting to know him on so many levels… except one. Draco tries not to think of it too much, he really does. And it’s not as if they don’t do things.

They kiss, they touch each other, and Harry is amazingly skilled with his mouth. There’s been that one glorious time where Draco fucked the tight space between Harry’s firm thighs, so near the real thing it was almost unbearable, and unbearably good. Still… Six months. Half a year of Harry’s smile. Half a year of happiness. 

“You look not entirely stupid, Potter,” Draco drawls, letting his gaze roam over Harry, from the sexy dragonhide shoes to his flushed face. Even his glasses seem cleaner than normal. “I feel underdressed.”

“Please,” Harry rolls his eyes. “You always look ready for a three star restaurant.”

Draco looks down on himself, soft grey trousers, crisp white shirt - nothing out of the ordinary. Well, as long as Harry likes it. They sit down to dinner a little awkwardly, but Draco likes it well enough. It suits him, the formal atmosphere, the ratty old House-elf spruced up with a clean towel, the delicious food… it feels like a memory from his childhood, before the world started burning.

“Father would be almost alright with this,” he says, smirking as Harry pulls a grimace. “Almost, I said. Nothing could make him condone the fact that not only am I sleeping with a man, it had to be Harry Potter.” 

To Draco’s shock Harry’s face crumbles at his words and he lays his fork next to his unfinished treacle tart. Has Draco said something wrong? Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned Father, Harry may still think Draco blames him for not getting Lucius out of a guilty sentence too. He doesn’t, honestly, he has told Harry a million times. Father is where he deserves to be.

“It so happens I have a gift for you,” Harry mutters before Draco can say anything. “I thought… I think I’m ready, Draco.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” Draco hurries to say, although the words are like music to his ears. “It shouldn’t be a gift for me, Potter. It should be for yourself, because you want it. Not because you know I want it.”

“Shut up and let’s get out of here.”

Harry smiles and gets up, leading Draco upstairs and into his bedroom. There are candles here too, a soft piano tune playing somewhere in the background. Damn, Harry really has given this a lot of effort. Draco is impressed - and horny.

Harry has started unbuttoning his shirt, slow and deliberate, revealing inch after inch of soft-looking skin. Draco watches, itching to just reach out and rip the damn thing open already. But he’ll be damned if he startles him now. Let him do it in his own time. And despite knowing nearly every inch of Harry’s skin by now, despite having seen him naked more often than Draco can count, the sight doesn’t fail to take his breath away when Harry finally straightens, naked.

This time it is different. This time Harry comes to him, no frantic rush, no desperately jumping into it. If there’s one good thing that came from all of this waiting it’s that Draco has learned patience. Intimacy. They kiss for a long time, slow and intense, Harry’s skin burning hot through Draco’s clothes. He lets Harry undress him, watches him go on his knees and get him ready, drags him back up for more kisses.

This time is different when Harry lays on his belly, relaxed and trusting, when he lets Draco kiss down his spine, to the crease of his buttocks, round and firm, when he lets Draco spread them without a sign of discomfort. No tensing, just long, low moans when Draco licks between them, finally tasting him there, finally getting to push his tongue past the barrier, inside Harry, finally in him. 

This time Harry’s face is flushed with pleasure when he turns around, when he spreads his legs and welcomes Draco between them, when they kiss again, Draco’s cock sliding between the slick cheeks, a smooth glide up and down the cleft, nearly catching in the tiny, wet hole…

A bolt of lightning before his eyes is the only warning Draco gets before he’s hurled across the room, crashing into the wall with a pained scream. His vision is swimming, his back hurts, there’s a thundering sound in his ears.Then Harry is there, shouting words Draco doesn’t understand, reaching out to him - Draco slaps his hand away, trying to get to his feet.

“Did you…” he pants, unable to comprehend what has happened just now. “What the fuck, Potter!" 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” Harry’s face is pale, he’s swallowing back tears. “It must’ve… my magic… I didn’t mean to…” 

The truth dawns on Draco slowly. “Your magic has rejected me. You threw me off you as if I was a bloody rapist!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Now Harry is really crying, but all Draco feels is anger and pain. “I wanted it, I was so sure I wanted it! Everything felt so good, so right…”

“Bloody right it must’ve been for your magic to strike me like this.” Draco flinches back when Harry reaches out for him again. “Don’t you fucking touch me, Potter. I’ve had enough!”

Harry pales even more at that, stumbling back. He’s still stark naked, Draco is too, and the whole situation is so undignified and ridiculous Draco starts laughing against his will, making Harry flinch hard.

“Not enough of _you,_ you dimwit! Enough of this! Enough of thinking I get to fuck you when clearly you’re not ready and never will be for all it seems. Just stop teasing me with it! Just let it go! Can’t you just let me get used to it in peace? That I may never be buried deep inside the man that I love?”

Time trickles to a halt as Harry stares at Draco, mouth gaping open like a stupid fish. Draco stares back in shock. He’d never meant to say it like this. Hell, he’d never realized the truth of it until this moment. He loves him. Loves Harry, despite everything, and if it isn’t going to happen then screw it. He loves him.

“That’s how you tell me, you utter git?” Harry sniffs. “You know, just… same.” 

 **The First Time**  

“Pass me the pruggles?”

“Pringles,” Harry says, but he does as he’s told like a good boy and Draco takes one of them out, nibbling at the edge. Harry snorts. “That’s not how you eat crisps, you snob.”

“Yes, I know, I’m supposed to stuff them into my mouth by the handful, get crumbs everywhere and look like a greedy pig.”

Draco takes another one. They’re surprisingly delicious, those Muggle snacks. He leans back into the cushions, brushing a stray crumb - he doesn’t know how it got there, really - from his jumper, and waits until Harry has snuggled up against his side.

It’s amazing how much he loves this, the quiet domestic evenings they tend to have. Draco also likes it when they go out - too many Gryffindors, but it’s alright - but he likes this best. Just the two of them, some puzzling Muggle flim, a nice fire… and later they will go upstairs, to bed. They will do all the things except the one. It doesn’t matter. He’s happy.

And Harry seems to be happy as well, or at least he’s horny, seeing as he tilts his head and starts nibbling at Draco’s ear as if it were a pruggle. Not that Draco is opposed to that, it’s just that he’s still fascinated by how much Harry wants and needs all kinds of touch, all kinds of sex. As long as nothing goes up his arse, he can never get enough. 

It doesn’t take long until Harry is straddling Draco, flim forgotten in the heat of their kisses. Draco moans as Harry bends down to suck at a tender spot on his neck, their crotches are tightly pressed together and for a moment there’s that one second of regret, as always, but Draco pushes it away, grinding hard against Harry, relishing the closeness–

He gasps in shock, where just a heartbeat ago had been two layers of clothes separating them is now nothing but skin on skin, and Harry slowly sinks down. It’s like a bludger to his stomach, so sudden, hot and wet, tight, and Draco’s mouth opens in a silent scream as he’s sheathed completely in Harry’s arse.

Harry is panting, eyes half-closed, mouth hanging open. He doesn’t seem to be in pain, his cheeks are red and he makes little noises of pleasure that send jolts through Draco’s body. He’s so perfect he cannot be real. Draco slowly lifts a hand to Harry’s face.

“Are you alright?”

“More than,” Harry whispers, and starts to move. 

It’s blinding, brilliant, a feeling he’s never known before, as if something from inside them is reaching out and melting together the same way their bodies are, no barriers left, nothing between them. It’s everything. Draco tenses, he doesn’t want it to be over, he needs nothing but staying like this forever, one with Harry. This, he realizes, is the true magic.

Lightning bolts flash again, inside and around them. But this time they don’t hurt or throw them apart, welding them together instead. It is nearly unbearable, so close to pain and Draco cries out as the feeling rises higher and higher, until it all explodes in a rain of sparks and pleasure.

It takes a long time before Draco is aware of his surroundings again. Sound comes first, the beating of his own heart, a clock ticking somewhere, birds outside the window, shallow breathing very near. The next thing Draco notices is a warm weight draped over him, adding to the heaviness in his limbs, in his whole body. Smell - sweat, come, something like burnt fabric, and Harry.

“Are you alright?” Draco asks again, cautious. “Talk to me, love." 

“Fine,” is the breathless answer somewhere near his ear. “That was… is it always like this? Sleeping with a… a wizard?”

“Never before,” Draco answers, carefully wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling them both in a sitting position. “I think your magic has struck again.”

“You could say that.” Harry slowly bends his neck to the left, then to the right. “I feel as if I’m filled with lead. We should - oh fuck.”

“What,” Draco urges, immediately alarmed. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Harry repeats, chuckling. “The couch isn’t.”

Draco looks down beneath him, expecting to see the familiar maroon cushions - he laughs, a short, surprised sound. They’re singed as if there has been a fire, blackened and brittle. 

“Damn, Potter, you’re a bloody thunderstorm. Next time,” Draco says, shaking his head, “I’ll fuck you somewhere fireproof.”

Harry chuckles.

“Fine by me. Do you think… can we do it now?”

Yes, Draco is now definitely sure. Harry Potter will be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a comment whore, what can I say... I'd love to know what you thought of this, I'm still very new and shy in this fandom, come say Hi if you like, here or on my tumblr (owlsinathens)


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